
Book_^AlJV2>i/ 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



Book of Verse 



BY 



FLORENCE MclNTYRE 



WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 

MARY CONNELL 



PUBLISHED BY 

EIDSON PUBLISHING COMPANY 

CHICAGO 



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Copyright, 1909 

BY 

fi^ordnce; mcintyre 

Portland, Oregon 



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CONTENTS 



PAGE. 

The Pansy 7 

The Violet 9 

The Old Man's Prayer 11 

To the Guardian 15 

The Red Rose 16 

The Sacrifice of the Rose 17 

The Golden Poppy 18 

Friendship 19 

God's Eternal Goodness 20 

Longings 21 

This Life 22 

Morning 23 

The Rainy Morn 27 

The God I Know 28 

Forgiveness 29 

Sweet Peas 30 

Daffodil 31 

Tell Me, O Beautiful Sea 32 

The Ocean's Reply 33 

The Song of Life 35 

Be Content 36 

The Brooklet 37 

Why Linger and Wait 38 

The Dahlia 39 

5 



6 CONTENTS 

PAGE. 

The Greeting of the Morn to the Sun 40 

The Silent City 43 

Justice 44 

Do Good, Don't Fret 45 

A Glimpse of Heaven 46 

The Water Lily 48 

Selfishness 49 

Man and Angel 50 

The Ocean's Grief 51 

The Lily 54 

Do Your Own Life Work 55 

Will You? 59 

Thanksgiving Day 60 

The Sunset 63 

Autumn 64 

Encouragement Q'o 

Mother Love 68 

Liberty Day 70 

How Can We Doubt God's Love? 71 

Do We Follow in God's Footsteps? 75 

Be Honest and True 77 

Heart's Treasures 78 

Why We Love Them 79 

Why Is It? 81 

Sleeping 82 

A Woman's Question 83 

Man Is Immortal 85 

Carnation ' 88 

Symbols of Life 89 

Why Should Mortals Be Proud? 92 



THE PANSY 

I was standing alone one dewy eve, 

Watching the sunset sky, 
Sick with hfe, its toils and cares, 

When a low, sweet voice floated by. 

"Why so sad and alone," it gently said, 
"And why do thy lips breathe sighs ? 

For 'tis summer time so' bright and fair, 
And Nature gives you all things here. 

"Gives sunshine, warmth, and love." 
I glanced around, above, below. 

For I longed the speaker to see ; 

When a merry laugh came from my feet. 
And I saw a pansy blow. 

It nestled down in the dewy grass. 
With its sweet little sunny face, 

"O sweet, sweet one, tell me, can you, 
Who taught you the song you sing? 

And where, I pray, do you get the dyes 
Of your dainty coloring? 

"What fairy hands dressed you this morn 

In robes of purple and gold ? 
And of snowy white like the angel's wing. 

And purest tenderest blue? 
But ever the heart of gold, sweet one, 

Some one has given you." 
7 



8 A BOOK OF VERSE 

It laughed again in its baby way, 

And nodded its dainty head — 
'"Twas God and the angels gave me them, 

And named me heartsease, too," she said. 

''And the sun is my lover too, you know. 

And the blue sky up above, 
And the raindrops that gently patter down, 

And the dewdrops cool, I love. 

''But most of all I love the hand, 
That has loosed the string of life. 
And I always give my best perfume. 
To the ones for whom the angels come. 

"And my sweetest songs I sing. 
To the tiny ones the angels bring. 
And that is the reason the children know, 
I am the heartsease, pansy blow.'* 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



THE VIOLET 



As I wandered by the rippling brook, 
Beneath blue skies in a sheltered nook, 
Within the dew bespangled grass, 
I saw a sweet face as I passed. 

I stood and gazed on the beautiful one, 
So happy and sweet, though all alone. 
And mutely asked it its secret to tell. 
As I too, was alone and alone must dwell. 

For death, cruel one, had stolen from me, 
All life held dear, and no more could I see 
The dear, dear ones that had vanished away. 
So tell me thy secret, sweet one, I pray. 

As I eagerly listened, the breeze floated by. 
Bearing a perfumed breath, and sweet low sigh, 
That told me its secret of contentment and joy. 

"The perfume, on the breeze, is a part of me. 

To sweeten a moment of time for thee, 

And the more I give to others, the more I am 

content. 
So I care not at all how soon my short life is 

spent. 

''I have no time at all to dream of the past, 

As I know my life here is not to last, 

But that though my sweet sisters have vanished 

away, 
I will find them again, some bright summer day. 



10 A BOOK OF VERSE 

''For long years of the past, in the first days of 
spring, 

My sisters have been first to the welcome news 
bring; 

And their sweet perfumed souls have bright- 
ened many a day, 

For some weary one traveling a lonely path- 
way. 

"And I know in the spring, when the birds sing 
in the trees. 

And the warm sun is shining, amid the hum- 
ming of bees. 

Another sweet sister will lift her bright face. 

With a breath of perfume for whoever may 
pass. 

And although I may not be here in the violet 
form, 

My perfumed soul will be floating around." 

I humbly knelt down on the dew-wet grass, 
And vowed to be patient till my life too was 

past. 
No more would I mourn that I was alone, 
But, like the violet sweet, my life should go on. 
Then I stooped and kissed the sweetest face I 

have ever seen, 
And left her asleep in her nest of green. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 11 

THE OLD MAN'S PRAYER 



Oh give me back my childhood days, 
Those happy care-free hours, 

When hke the joyous spring time bird, 
I played midst trees and flowers. 

Oh give me back my innocence, 

My peaceful loving trust, 
E'er this poor body must lie down, 

To slumber in the dust. 

Oh give me back my childish joys. 
And make me glad once more, 

E'er my poor, faltering, stumbling feet. 
Shall tread the golden shore. 

Then in my childish innocence. 
With no thought of sin or crime. 

I romped away the summer days, 
Before my manhood's prime. 

Give back to me the dreams of youth, 

The shattered idols, fled ; 
Give back the faces vanished now. 

Of friends that long are dead. 

Oh let me hear my mother's voice. 

In accents sweet and low. 
And let me feel her loving hand. 

As at her knee I bow. 



12 A BOOK OF VERSE 

Oh loving mother, sweetest word, 

That falls on mortal ears. 
The truest friend of all mankind, 

Of all, the one most dear. 

Oh, give to me my manhood's pride. 

That faded long ago. 
By bringing back my fair young bride. 

Death's cycle laid them low. 

She came to me in girlish grace, 
With an angel smile upon her face. 

But, as all to pure for earth was she, 
And death stole my bride away from me. 

They robed her in her garments white. 
Strewed flowers sweet and fair, 

Placed snowy rosebuds in her hands. 
White liHes in her hair. 

And then they called me there to see, 

My darling one at rest, 
With a smile of sweet content and joy. 

And our baby on her breast. 

I turned away in bitter pain. 

From that sweet loving face, 
For well I knew that 'twas the last. 

And joy for me on earth was past. 

The sun shines on as in childish days, 
The birds sing sweetest songs ; 

The flowers perfume all the air. 

Nor know that she is slumbering there. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 13 

And I stand here alone to-day, 

Beside the cold, white marble stone 

That marks the spot of fresh, green grass. 
That is my darling's resting place. 

But I am all alone to-day. 

My life sands almost run, 
And looking backward o'er my life. 

See so much I might have done. 

I might have shared another's pain. 
Have dried some mourner's tears. 

Some hungry one I should have fed, 
Instead of lingering there. 

Oh, could I live my life again, 

And go back to childhood's hour, 
I'd not be idly standing here. 

Bemoaning that sweet flower. 

No tears at all should my eyes shed, 

That she had passed away ; 
But I'd rejoice and be more glad, 

That she was freed from clay. 

For she stands close beside me here, 

In a far more beauteous guise, 
And tells me DEATH is our best friend, 

HIS dealing ever wise. 

'Tis true he takes our loved ones hence, 

We see their forms no more, 
But oh, remember this, my friend, 

They have reached the golden shore. 



14 A BOOK OF J 'ERSE 

They long no more for childish joys, 
'Nor earthly pleasures dead, 

For 'tis the clay alone that sleeps, 
The soul, from it, has tied. 

Then try each day some good to do. 
Keep your eyes fixed on the sun, 

And never think of toil or care, 
Until your work is done. 

For all of vanished childhood's joys, 
And manhood's idols too. 

You'll find again in God's good time, 
\\'hen earthly toils are through. 



TO THE GUARDIAN 

To the one who is guarding a treasure, 
If it be of the earth or the air. 

There is ever some other to covet. 
The thing that another holds dear. 

Guard as closely as mortal is able. 
Some other the treasure will see. 

And will try to obtain what is another's. 
No matter who the other may be. 

Be it father, or mother, or brother. 
Be it sister, or child, or the wife. 

Be it maid, be it man, or the widow. 

Treasure always will bring to thee strife. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 15 

Sometimes to the woman 'tis dishonor, 
Sometimes to the man 'tis the cell, 

But remember, 'tis coveting what is another's, 
Causes many in prison to dwell. 

Try to be content with what life may give you, 
Covet nothing which is not thine own, 

Be honest to all that are round you, 
Then the honor and truth are your own. 

Pay no heed to the way others liveth, 
Let him ride if he can on his way; 

If to thee it is given to wander. 

Remember, life's cares are ended, some day. 

And no matter to thee if thy sisters 

Wear silks, and jewels so rare, 
For Jesus was born in a stable, 

And was housed like the birds of the air. 

The king and his queen are unhappy, 
Have no friend at all they can trust. 

For they know hatred, and envy go with them, 
And will till they, too, are at rest. 

Rest comes to no man, till life is over. 
Till the mortal returns into dust, 

Then the soul v/ill go back to the giver, 
And know God, in His wisdom, knew best. 



16 A BOOK OF VERSE 



THE RED ROSE 

O, the red, red rose so bright and gay, 
With its golden heart and perfumed soul. 
Makes a flower perfect in every way, 
As it sways and bends, on its thorny stem, 
Its bright red leaves tell each who come 
Of its tender love for its God, the sun. 

The golden heart means zare must be true 
To each one we meet, and in all we do ; 
And the perfume sweet, O it says to me. 
Give only love, and unselfish be. 
Then love alone will come to thee. 

But the cruel thorn, we must each one try, 
To remove, e'er another one comes by, 
For that other may not that sharp lance see, 
And in grasping the rose he will find the thorn ; 
And with bitter tears, and in anguish mcurn. 
Which zve might have saved our brother from. 

If this be the lesson it teaches you, 
Of the work we each and all should do, 
If this be the story the red rose tells thee. 
Then sister, your life and another's will 
brighter be. 



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A BOOK OF VERSE 17 



THE SACRIFICE OF THE ROSE 

Like the flush of the sky in the morning, 

When she flings back the veil of the night, 
So the beautiful one that's before you. 

Proudly lifts her sweet face to the light; 
No queen in her jewels and splendor, 

Swathed in garments so rich and so rare. 
Can, with the beautiful ''Queen of the Garden" 

Be jeweled with dewdrops, compare. 

For the Queen is filled with faults, and with 
follies. 

And by envy and malice is led, 
But the beautiful 'Queen of the Garden' 

Her petals breathe perfume, tho' dead. 
And oft 'neath the breast of the woman, 

Dwelleth lust, dwelleth anger and shame; 
But the one that dwells out in the sunshine, 

'Welcomes even the kiss of the rain. 

And each one who may chance to behold her 

As she sways on the slender, green stem. 
Breathes a prayer, and a loving thought o'er 
her, 

For the perfume that she's given them. 
And tho' the rose may lie withered before you, 

And her beauty and fragrance have fled, 
A feeling of sadness will linger 

For the beauty, and perfection now dead. 

But the perfume she gave unto others 
That chanced her beauty to see. 



18 A BOOK OF VERSE 

Will linger on earth for long ages, 
For nothing could more perfect be. 

So all hail, to the "Queen of the Garden," 
So beautiful, perfect, and sweet, 

That the fairies who dwell in fair dreamland, 
Call her beauty a thing most complete. 

The beautiful rose-tinted petals, 

From the pearl, to the bright crimson ray. 
Hold up their sweet lips for the kisses. 

Of the beautiful "Sun-god" of day. 
And she gives forth with reckless profusion 

The perfume that shortens her life. 
Ne'er caring at all when 'tis ended, 

For to love, she has given her life. 



THE GOLDEN POPPY 

The golden poppy lifts its head. 
On its slender pale green stem. 

To greet its lover, the sun ; 
It thrills and trembles in its delight. 

That its master again has come. 

It opens its golden heart so true. 
And keeps no secret within. 

But tells him all it has said or done, 
Be it good, or be it a sin. 

Then when it has told its story of life. 
And the sun has gone away. 

It closes its heart so none can see. 
Till he comes again some day. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 19 

No Other must enter its secret place, 

None other its secret hear, 
So it folds its golden mantle close, 

Till the sun again comes near. 

Dear faithful one, I would be like thee. 

To my master ever be true; 
Then I, too, may wear a golden crown. 

And be happy as well as you. 



FRIENDSHIP 

Remember, child, and bear in mind, 

An honest friend is hard to find ; 

But when you've found one good and true, 

Be honest with him in all you do. 

Do naught to him that e'en can mar, 
The light of honest friendship's star. 
But by living in each and every way. 
The love that in your heart doth stay. 
That friend you may keep always at hand, 
Until you reach the golden strand. 

Then when you go home, safe at last, 
And toils and dangers all are passed. 
How great will your rejoicing be. 
That friendly hands had clung to thee. 



20 A BOOK OF VERSE 



GOD'S ETERNAL GOODNESS 

Wasted nay, though shades of darkness, 

On thy pathway may descend, 
Honest effort ne'er is wasted, 

Truth must conquer in the end. 

Though fortune may desert thy footsteps. 
Sickness and sorrow thy path o'er spread, 

You know the sun will shine tomorrow. 
And flowers bloom where leaves are dead. 

Do thy work as it comes to thee, 

Wait for no one's aid at all. 
Then for thee is peace and plenty, 

For God sees each sparrow fall. 

He hears each cry for help and pardon, 

Sends his angels to thy aid. 
Then, Oh mortal cease thy doubting. 

For there's naught for thee to be afraid. 

You have seen the thirsty song bird, 

As it takes the drop it craves. 
Raises its head in glad thanksgiving, 

Thus giving God His share of praise. 

And you have stood beside the blossom. 
Giving its perfume to the breeze. 

And that perfume sweet will tell you, 
It, too, is giving God His praise. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 21 

E'en the snowy crest of mountain, 

And the misty ocean spray, 
Raise themselves in adoration 

Of God's power great and free. 

Then when you see the wretched faces, 

Passing by you on the street, 
Try to find some way to brighten, 

Each sad one you chance to meet. 

Tell to them of God's great goodness. 
Tell them they too can look and live, 

Tell them to do like bird and mountain, 
And God His blessings them will give. 



LONGINGS 



Oh, for one more glimpse of a dear, dear face. 

For one more touch of well-loved hands ; 

Oh, to once more clasp that form so fair, 

To once more stroke the shining hair. 

But never again, save in my dreams. 

Can I return to the dear dead past, 

Tho' I sometimes start with an eager haste. 

And sometimes fancy I hear the voice; 

But no, O no, 'tis an echo still, 

From the past so dear that is mine alone. 

But I know full well, and that alone gives peace. 
That some glad day will my longing cease ; 
And I will find again on the other shore. 



22 A BOOK OF VERSE 

The ones that come to me no more. 
Tho' they may not come to me here below, 
Sometime, somewhere, I too will go. 
And O, happiness perfect, peace sublime. 
We will together be, for eternal time. 



THIS LIFE 



This life is so much like the ocean, 

As mortal doth journey along, 
With life's sorrows 'tis forever in motion, 

So that few care its days to prolong. 

But oh, child, if you will only remember, 

That this life is only to teach. 
You must gather both sunbeams and roses. 

E'er the waves bear them out of your reach. 

Remember the waves of the ocean. 

Are ever at war with the shore, 
Ever striving to tear from its bosom, 

Some treasure that has been placed there. 

But struggle and strive as it may. 
It never can tear from its bosom, 

The roses so bright and so gay. 

They bloom on in sweetness and beauty. 

Ne'er thinking 'tis a duty to all. 

As in giving out sweetness to others, 

Lie life's pleasures and beauties for all. 

Now, child, go straight forward nor falter, 



A BOOK OF VERSE 23 

Tho' the sunshine and roses may fade, 
Remember they come again, sometime, 

And tears never brighten the shade. 

Try by each Httle thing that comes to you, 
Some other one's pathway to cheer. 

Then Hfe's shadows will brighten as others 
In turn will shield you from care. 

For what you give, others returneth, 

Like the dove or the bat, which e'er it may be, 

O, try now to give only roses, 

Then their perfume alone is for thee. 



MORNING 



When the hosts of the morn are advancing, 
And the shades of night fleeing away, 

O, the beauties I see are entrancing. 

As they are massed for the coming of day. 

The sky, night had curtained with darkness. 
And the world, her dark shadows hid, 

Are all thrilling and trembling with gladness, 
That to the wedding they are again bid. 

Thy sky is turning from grey into crimson, 
And is all flecked with purple and gold ; 

And the clouds in great masses are gathering, 
A most beautiful sight to behold. 



24 A BOOK OF VERSE 

The soft trailing mists on the hill-tops, 
Are coming in haste everywhere, 

For the soft, fleecy robes of the morning, 
Ere she, the fair one, may be there. 

And the mountains, O how to describe them, 
In the soft light of silver and grey. 

As they too, don the rose and the crimson. 
In honor of fair morning, and day. 

One seems to hear the hosts chanting, 
In anthems so grand and so sweet, 

For, without music to finish the welcome. 
The morning would not be complete. 

Soft, rippling waves from the ocean, 

Are lovingly kissing the sand. 
As it, too, has to get itself ready, 

For the kiss of the sun, on the strand. 

O why cannot man understand it ? 
O why, for long ages untold, 

Has the poor fool then been blinded to this, 
That in the w.edding of day and morning. 

Is the picture of eternal bliss ? 

For when night stands on the threshold of 
morn. 

And the dawning of day is at hand, 
O then is the time of all others, 

When God shows how wisely He's planned. 

Night is like the sable clad mourner, 
Who will not accept truth when found, 



A BOOK OF VERSE 25 

And only wraps her sable robes closer, 
When she dimly sees day is at hand. 

Does not wish for the warmth and the beauty, 
Will not stay in the light, and the love. 

But ever prefers her Idol, darkness. 
To the joy and the hope from above. 

Will not list to the beautiful teachings. 
His hand has so plainly placed there, 

On the glorious sky of the morning. 

When the whole world, is kneeling in prayer. 

O the beauties of that supreme moment, 

When the glorious ruler of day. 
Comes to drive back the minions of darkness, 

And to keep them forever, at bay. 

So it has been in all the past ages, 

When the sun goes to his rest for a time. 

The darkness comes stealing upon us, ^ 
And we forget the sun will again shine. 

We forget the sky will be painted, 

In all colors of most perfect hue. 
We forget that the shades of dense darkness, 

Will again turn to the most perfect blue. 

We forget that each morn is the marriage 

Of hope, to the sun-god of day ; 
We forget, that we are like the sun-god, 

That we too, can drive the darkness away. 



26 A BOOK OF VERSE 

O, let each one remember when he comes 

To the evening of Hfe, 
That 'tis only the eve of the wedding, 

For with the morning comes ever the light. 

'Tis only when we choose the darkness, 
That we feel we are forsaken and lone, 

For, if we choose to look ever downward. 
We will catch ne'er a gleam of the sun. 

If we close our ears to the music, 
We know not the air that is played, 

But if we listen and look for the morning, 
Then we will ne'er more be afraid. 

We will be all dressed for the wedding, 
In garments so pure and so clean, 

That we too, will be ready at dawning, 
And the wedding day will be our own. 

No power but the one Supreme Ruler, 

Could such grandeur and beauty conceive. 

And no power but the Lord that is mighty, 
Can ever, the poor blinded fool save. 

He must give up himself and his follies, " 
Must be true as the day to the morn, 

Must be honest, be true and be noble. 
Then alone is he true to his own. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 27 



THE RAINY MORN 

I think, my child, on morns Uke this. 
When nature sleeps 'neath banks of mist, 
Tho' the sun still 'shines above the clouds, 
Man sees it not, for fear the mists of doubt 
Which round him float, keeps the sunbeams out. 

The mists of ages still roll down. 
O'er hill and valley, vale and town. 
And man's so blinded by things base. 
That he feels no sunbeam on his face. 

But all men have not sunk so low, 
That they ne'er to the mountains go. 
And are ne'er content till on the higher peaks. 
He finds the sunlight which he seeks. 

For there, on the snowy carpet spread, 
He can hear the holy angels tread ; 
And he knows that the God of ages still, 
Rules all mankind, and ever will. 

But 'tis not in anger base or low. 
That God would speak to man below ; 
But a love more boundless than the sea, 
Would help man to more God-like be. 

It leaves the shore of each one's life, 
That with gentle ripples would cleanse from 
strife : 



28 A BOOK OF VERSE 

And the cleansing spray that it sends on high, 
Would heal his soul, and his tear-drops dry. 

But man is weak and to frailties given, 
And his soul knows not the touch of Heaven. 
And he is content in the mists to stay. 
Nor seeks the sunlight day by day. 

But the one who climbed the mountain peaks, 
Returns to earth and the good news breaks; 
That he saw the sunbeams bright and clear. 
And if the man so wishes, 'twill shine here. 



THE GOD I KNOW 

You ask me to tell you of the God I know. 
Where I can find Him, and, finding Him show, 
To other seekers who fail to find, 
The one great secret of a contented mind. 

I find Him in every thing I may see. 

To me 'tis no secret where e'er He may be. 

As I hear His voice, so low, and sweet. 

And see His face in who ever I meet. 

His accents sound in the thunders loud, 

In the pattering drops, from the silver cloud. 

And even the tiny worm doth His work show, 

As who of YOU can make it grow? 

You can sow the tiny brown seed, 

But, He gave it to you to sow, 

As He also did the lily blow. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 29 

Then when He calls for HIS part of thee, 
How cold and still will thy clay house be. 

But O eager searchers of the dim light, 
Remember He may call thee by day or by night, 
And always list when He speaks to thy soul, 
And you will know God, the good, is the whole. 

That He dwells to-day, and He always will, 

Then let thy questioning lips be still. 

Be content to know that He will sometimes 

come, 
And you will see and know as all men have 

done. 
Have perfect content, as your futures unroll. 
For all Nature is the body — God is the soul. 



FORGIVENESS 

Forgive, as you hope for forgiveness. 
And cherish the feeling divine ; 
Remembering that no one is sinless, 
As sin will always round us entwine. 
It clings, O so close to each mortal, 
That nothing but aid from on high. 
Will save the frail ones by and by. 
And now, give this message to others, 
As our time, here with you is so short ; 
But our teachings in vain have been given, 
If you still give the angry retort. 
O, allow not your heart e'en to harden. 



30 A BOOK OF VERSE 

Fling aside all envy and strife, 
So that to each and all that are round you, 
Your life may be loving and bright. 
And each day like the leaves of the lilies, 
With its beauty and sweetness unrolled, 
And then when your earth life is ended, 
It will, like the sweet lily, unfold. 



SWEET PEAS 

"Sweet peace" — the words the angels know, 
Tho' man has changed them here below ; 
But man corrupts each thing he sees. 
And so perfection is called — sweet peas. 

Nature ne'er can create a thing more sweet. 
In bud, in flower and perfume, 'tis complete. 
In form, you'll find an "angel fair; 
The robes, the wings, and perfumed soul, 
All make the flower, a perfect whole. 

And thus you see, how it came to be 
The perfect blossom which you see. 
When you look on it, let all sorrow cease. 
Remember, it is the angels' peace, sweet peace. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 81 



DAFFODIL 

Oh, ''Daffodowndilly" so sunny and bright, 
You are with us again, with your sweet golden 

light. 
You have braved the frost, the snow and the 

sleet, 
To give us a glimpse of the summer's delight. 
By coming so early when your sisters still rest — 
Within Mother Earth's bosom, in their cosy 

dark nest. 

But oh ! dear you are welcome, you know as of 

old. 
With your gown and petticoats of yellow and 

gold. 
Your sharp little green lances are so bright and 

keen, 
They seem to be trying to keep you forever with 

with them. 

But oh, no, pretty one, we can not leave you 

there. 
For you are the first to come to us here. 
So we will pluck you away from the pretty 

green nest. 
And place you on the bosom of those we love 

best. 
To tell them, one and all, to be of good cheer. 
As spring fair and lovely will now soon be here. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



TELL ME, O BEAUTIFUL SEA! 

O ocean, thou emblem of freedom, 

So beautiful, restless, and grand, 
What is it within your great bosom 

Keeps you so restlessly beating the sand ? 
O why do you struggle so bravely. 

To tear down the storm-beaten shore, 
Why lash with such angry passion. 

To only fall backward once more? 
O why not be calm, and be smiling, 

O why can you not be content ? 
What is this resistless ambition, 

Which into your bosom is sent ? 
Can it be that in some rocky cavern, 

Far down in the depths of the sea. 
Lives a god who forever is driving 

Your waves, that should have been free? 
Or is it because you are angry, 

That man, in his freedom from fear, 
Should ride on your bosom in safety? 

Only tell me, O beautiful sea. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 38 



THE OCEAN'S REPLY 

I ask you — can human ambition, 
Conceive of a freedom so grand, 

As this which keeps me in motion, 
Ever changing the shore into sand? 

I rage and I roar as do mortals, 

But my best work, I do when at play, 

As then you forget there is danger. 
Far down in my billows each day. 

You think your danger is only. 

When I cast my wild billows on high, 
Then alone you think danger is nigh. 

But I say to you this lovely morning, 

\A/ith the sun shining bright o'er the sea, 
Tho' my waves are in thundering motion, 

There's not half, the danger to thee. 
For to-day you will guard every port-hole, 

And keep yourself far from my reach, 
For you will look and remember by past lessons, 

The lessons I still can, and will teach. 

For what is a poor mortal I ask you? 

A thing that will cheat, lie and kill. 
Is neither true to himself or his brother, 

Ne'er has been, and I say never will. 
He lets every duty pass lightly, 

Leaves all he can for his brother to do; 

But now I will speak of my labors, 
Of the work which T do every day, 



34 A BOOK OF VERSE 

I leave nothing at all for another, 

But give of my best every way. 
If 'tis time to give mortals smooth sailing, 

I hide all their wrecks deep from sight. 
You can trust yourself safely upon me. 

And sleep sweetly all day and all night. 
But when down deep in my caverns, 

I hear the word spoken — "Arise," 
Then, O mortal, if you would live safely, 

I bid you beware and be wise. 

When I lift up my head in my grandeur, 
'Tis then you look on me and remember. 

That I too, can wreck, and can kill ; 
But, O mortal, I never deceive you. 

Surge and roar as loud as I may. 
My work lies ever before you, 

I hide nothing at all any way. 

Now, O child, if you listen I'll give you, 

What I've striven for ages to teach, 
Man should ever look high in ambition, 

Ever strive for that out of his reach. 
Can you not see that my strength is in union ? 

And in massing my forces so grand, 
Is the strength that keeps me in motion. 

And aids me to tear down your land. 

MY work must, and SHALL be accomplished, 

I must do it, I can, and I will ; 
Then, O mortal, I ask, how dare you 

Bid me in my strength to be still ? 
Rest for ME comes when MY work is ended, 

Then ALONE can my waters be still. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 35 

And that will be when the earth all has van- 
ished, 

Anrl there's nothing at all left of ill. 
And that, mortal, may not be for ages. 

But that is nothing at all now to me, 
r will simply keep on with my labors, 

Till the earth has all turned into sea. 
Then alone is my mission ended, 

Then alone can I rest me content ; 
For the sins of man then will be vanished. 

And MY strength all will have been spent. 



THE SONG OF LIFE 

The song bird builds its little nest, 

And cushions it with down from breast. 

No thought of care e'er mars its life, 

It knows no care, nor yet of strife. 

It simply takes the crumbs that are given, 

And sings its thanks high up in Heaven. 

So, every humble duty done, 

It lives its thanks from sun to sun. 

Now take this lesson to your heart, 

And like the song bird, do your part; 

Nor think, nor care, of others' tasks, 

But (\o your own, while life shall last. 

Thus like the song bird you will rise, 

And life's full song be one of praise. 

So now, as earth to earth returned, 

The pearls are sweet, when once they're earned. 



36 A BOOK OF VERSE 



BE CONTENT 

Man bears himself a load of care, 
When all things to him should be fair. 
But greedy self makes all his needs, 
And he this self, thus always feeds. 
He cares for naught, but lust of self, 
And strives each day for more of wealth, 
That he this self may more comfort give, 
And thus for self, he always lives. 

The tiny bird upon the wing, 

Does naught but live, and love, and sing. 

It trusts the source from which it springs, 

And tries with innocence and love, 

To live its life like that above. 

It craves no store of hoarded wealth, 

It gains no crumb by wrong or stealth. 

But the needed crumb is always given. 

By the loving Father up in Heaven. 

He made this earth all bright and fair. 
With plenty too, for each one here; 
And 'tis only when man seeks for more. 
To add to his own hidden store. 
That unto him much care doth come, 
And innocence and peace he mourns. 

For so long as the channel must seek 
The source of its being from dross, 
That long will our efforts be weak. 
And our loving words ofttimes be lost. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 37 

For no matter how pure be the stream, 
When it goes to the swamp, dense and still, 
It can sparkle and ripple no more 
As it did, at the brow of the hill. 



THE BROOKLET 

Now can we not this lesson learn. 
From the brooklet by the way. 

To gladly aid the weaker ones, 
We meet from day to day? 

Give loving smiles and gentle words, 

To each we chance to see, 
And never question them at all, 

What e'er their life may be. 

But leave mistakes and follies past, 

As does the little brook, 
And give each one that thirsty comes. 

The loving word or look. 

If each of us will, like the brook, 

Go gently rippling on, 
We will find this life will better be. 

And less of sin and shame. 

Give each that comes, the perfumed bud, 

The cruel thorn removing, 
And pay no heed to the pain you have, 

If another you are saving. 



38 A BOOK OF VERSE 

Be open and fair as the sunny morn, 
Ring true to every sounding; 

Give only perfume sweet to all, 
Then love will come abounding. 



WHY LINGER AND WAIT? 

We linger, and wait, day after day. 
For the foot-step we never more hear ; 

We eagerly watch for the absent one, 
That our hearts have held so dear. 

So our lives go by, till the evening tide, 
When watching and waiting is o'er, 

We, too, have reached the river side. 
And sailed for the distant shore. 

Then no more waiting for treasures lost, 
No more of sorrow, and pain. 

For we the dim, dark river have crossed, 
And are with our loved ones again. 

No more of toil, and no more of tears, 

But love, and joy supreme; 
No more of lingering by the shore. 

But LIFE now for all time. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 39 



THE DAHLIA 

O thou false-hearted one of the garden, 

So perfect in color and form, 
You are like the poor fallen wanton, 
Or the false empty husk of the corn. 

You attract to your side all that passes, 
There are none can e'er pass you by. 

But 'twere better if they came not near you, 
But left you alone there to die. 

For, when they come closely unto you. 
And look for the soul you should have, 

They will hastily turn away from you. 

And go elsewhere for the love which they 
crave. 

No one will give thee to the sleeper. 
Or place thee on the cold, silent breast. 

For you in your coldness and hauteur, 

Are out of place where loved ones are at rest. 

No one will give thee to the maiden, 

On the morn that she is to wed, 
For by her in her sweetness and honor. 

You are the emblem of a soul that is dead. 

But when we are heart-sick and weary, 
And would have only beauty for our own, 

O then we will come to the garden, 
And you'll ne'er more be alone. 



40 A BOOK OF VERSE 

We will clasp you so closely, O fair one, 
That we cannot look into your heart, 

And so we will not miss the soul there. 
But be happy till death tears apart. 

Then as we have lived selfishly ever, 
And no good have we either e'er done. 

We have no right to remembrance. 
As that is for the good ones alone. 

So all hail, when we are sated with pleasure, 

To the dahlia we ever will go. 
And, in her false beauty will revel. 

And thus forget we are false too. 



THE GREETING OF THE MORN TO 

THE SUN 

Part I 

One morn when I woke from my slumber. 
And looked out on a day newly bom, 

In all its fresh dewy splendor and beauty, 
I wished that / was like the morn. 

That I like the world could look upward. 
And be glad that my lover would come, 

And that I like the beautiful morning, 
Would be ever fair, and be young. 



A BOOK OF VERSE il 

Would never be sin-sick and weary, 

Would never be sorry, nor sad ; 
Have never a pain nor a heartache, 

But like the morn I might ever be glad. 

And then when all disheartened and tired, 

I might like the day go to rest, 
Content that I too, like the morning, 
Would wake up again happy and blest. 

Now list to me and I will tell thee, 

What it was that I heard, that fair morn ; 

What the greeting the morn gave to its lover, 
When its idol, the ''Sun-god" was born. 



Part II 



thou beloved through all the past ages, 
O thou sun, the delight of my life, 

1 greet you, as a slave in submission, 

As the maid that will soon be a wife. 

I place myself humbly before you. 

Content with one warm sunny beam from 
thine eye. 
For 'twill make me rejoice in my birth-right, 

As beneath your feet ever I lie. 

If vou only will come in the morning, 
To greet me as you always have done, 

I will patiently wait through night shadows. 
For I know when you come they are gone. 



42 A BOOK OF VERSE 

That SO long as I am true to our Master, 
That long you will come back to me, 

And the morn will be kissed by her lover, 
And the sun drive all darkness away. 

Part III 

I stood there and quietly listened, 

To the greeting that I had o'er heard ; 
Ashamed that / ever existed, 
For I saw man, was the blot on the world. 

Poor fool, he is like the bat in the blindness, 
Or the swine as he lies in his filth, 
Content with his own sins and follies, 

Then I humbly knelt down in submission, 

To the power that rules the day. 
And said — ''If you will forgive me, 
I, too, will love thee and obey. 

I, too, will forsake night and its sorrows. 

I, too, will seek only the sun. 
Then / will find God in thee sometimes, 

I, too, like the day find my own." 



A BOOK OF VERSE 43 



THE SILENT CITY 



In the silent city of the dead, 
Is where the holy angels tread; 
Keep watch and ward by day and night, 
O'er dust of mortals gone from sight. 

'Twas ages past, perchance, since they 
Were placed beneath the crumbling clay, 
And have for long years forgotten been, 
As will those silent slumbering ones. 

The roses bloom above the grass. 
And perfume give to all that pass; 
The trees their branches gently wave. 

And cast the shadows o'er the graves. 

To old or new, it matters not. 

Neither God or Nature has forgot. 

Forgotten? — Nay, 'tis man alone 

That e'er forgets those silent ones ; 

As Nature's God remembers all, 

O'er whom grim death may cast his pall. 

Those silent guardians come and go, 
And whisper gently in the ear, 
Of weeping friends beside each bier — 
Weep not for him, 'tis only clay 
Which you have come to put away. 
The one you loved, still lives and loves, 
And has only gone to his home above. 
Though you may never see his face, 
Until you rest within this place. 



44 A BOOK OF VERSE 

Remember all men are like the grass, 
And swiftly each and all must pass; 
But each and all in God's own time, 
Will reach this silent, shadowy clime. 
And dwell with those same slumbering ones, 
Beneath the crumbling marble stone. 

So gently tread when you come here, 
For those are sacred and most dear; 
They slumber well, and are content 
With what both life and death have sent. 
And dust to dust have thus returned, 
And God's own wisdom they have learned. 



JUSTICE 

I'd say to thee, poor thirsting one, 
That unto thee a day will come 
When earthly treasures all will flee. 
And death alone will stay by thee. 
O then, frail one, on wings of love 
We'll haste to thee from homes above, 
And thus you'll find, mid'st doubt and pain, 
The loving ones have come again, 
To comfort, care for, and caress, 
The one they love to cheer and bless. 
With acts and words of pure delight 
They bear your soul to realms of light. 
And teach you thus, that none are lost 
But, that God's plans are always just. 
Thus all return to earth again. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 45 

To lighten doubt, as well as pain. 
And now, dear ones, can ye not see, 
'Twas better far for such as thee 
To learn to live in such a way. 
As ne'er to need the awakening day? 



DO GOOD, DON'T FRET 

The human mind is like a cup. 
It seeks to grasp and hold too much. 
And so in seeking to retain 
It often spills the golden grain. 
And so, still in the cup there stays, 
The dregs of former, darker days ; 
You suffer still the dregs to stay, 
And mar full many a happy day. 



46 A BOOK OF VERSE 



A GLIMPSE OF HEAVEN 

'Twas an eve long passed, O friend of mine, 

That I awoke in a far away clime, 

And if you'll have patience I'll try to tell thee 

The manner of clime it chanced to be. 

The sun shone so softly, the air was so sweet, 

The music throbbed gently, and all things were 

complete ; 
'Twas no matter at all in which way I turned, 
A supreme contentment was the lesson I 

learned. 

No wants did I see that were not instantly 

filled. 
Each flowerlet was perfect, and with dewdrops 

bestrewed. 
And the calmness of Heaven there seemed to 

brood. 
'Neath the soft, downy wings of sweet love 

I could rest. 
And pillow my head on the fair, throbbing 

breast. 
No thing did I wish for, but 'twas instantly 

gained. 
And the thing I had missed and had searched 

for in tears, 
I found them all over there, fruits of long van- 
ished years. 
And that which seemed fairest and was most 

bitterly wept, 



A BOOK OF VERSE 47 

The one I'd loved dearly, and had long passed 
away, 

Stood there close beside me, in that perfect day. 

Hands clasped close together, heart pressed 
close to heart, 

We are together again, love, and will never- 
more part. 

Words fail to describe it, this beautiful land 
That I found on that night, but I woke with a 

start ; 
I'd been sitting there dreaming, in my chair by 

the fire. 
Idly watching the blazes leaping higher and 

higher, 
But the lesson I learned while I slept in my 

chair 
Will last till I, too, climb the same mystic stair. 
For I KNOW that my SOUL had been absent 

that day, 
And had thus solved the mystery that will 

puzzle each one 
Till the journey is all over and the work is all 

done. 
For I saw my own loved one in the land of 

content, 
And I am happy in knowing, be the day far or 

near, 
Some day in the future I, too, will be there. 
1 hen, hand clasped in hand, love, heart pressed 

to heart, 
J, too, will be there, love, and will never more 

part. 



48 A BOOK OF VERSE 



THE WATER LILY 

Take the lily forsooth, 
The days of its youth, 

Are spent amid mud and slime ; 
But in seeking the love, 
Of the sunshine above. 

It blooms with a beauty sublime. 

So, from this you'll see. 
No matter to thee. 

Of the source from which you spring, 
As the prince or the slave. 
All go to the grave 

A repulsive, inanimate, thing. 

But, if like the lily. 

It be sunshine they love, 
They'll rise in their beauty. 

To bloom up above. 



A BOOK OF (/ERSE 49 



SELFISHNESS 



In all the ages since time began, 

The name of selfishness is — man; 

No other race upon the sod 

So far forgets himself and God. 

No other ''thing" within the plan 

Si)ills so much blood as this ''thing," man. 

I have the right no other has; 
Who gave the right tor him to use ? 
'Twas his to save, but not abuse. 

You see results on every hand, 
Of man usurping brothers' land. 
I want, I hold, and hold by might, 
I care not for your wrong, nor right, 
I care for naught except myself, 
My coffers fill from others' wealth. 

I'll get the gold; 

It matters not how many die, 

So long as I my wants supply. 

So now, good friends, you see by this, 
A mortal's aim is, selfishness. 



50 A BOOK OF VERSE 



MAN AND ANGEL 

Man is ever at war with the angels, 
Is ever in league with dark strife, 

Is never contented nor happy. 

But ever restlessly craving for life. 

Is never contented with what is given, 
But strives to more pleasure obtain ; 

And O, how often he loses, by struggling, 
The good he would otherwise gain. 

But there comes a time to all mankind 
When they see what selfishness means. 

But how oft the wisdom is purchased 
By despair at the loss of their dreams! 

Oh, let every one try to live better, 
Let each dreamer awaken to this. 

That man must be unselfish and noble, 
If he would have eternal bliss. 

For the one that doth love his brother, 
And will try to aid each one he can. 

Is ever in touch with the angels, 

And is aiding, not warring, with them. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 51 



THE OCEAN'S GRIEF 

Oh, beautiful sea, so vast and grand, 
Why this sad moaning along the strand ; 
Oh, why can your waters never sleep, 
Those mighty waters, fathoms deep? 

It serms to me, as I listen to you, 
You must have a work that is mighty to do. 
Or else, oh, sea, you would sometimes rest, 
Sometimes have peace within your breast. 

Are the songs you sing, when with billows high 
Your waves go thundering swiftly by, 
Of the mighty strength in your waters deep. 
Or the unnumbered dead, that within you 
sleep? 

When on the sands you softly creep. 
With gentle whispers that seem to weep, 
Are you telling me of man and maid, 
That long, long ago within you were laid? 

Is this sobbing of grief and pain. 
For the many thousands you have slain. 
Or do you weep for more to slay. 
More of man's sins to wash away? 

Your crystal waters, pure and. clean. 
Tell me of deeds of God-like men ; 
And not of sins you have hid from sight. 
But have washed away in your waters bright. 



52 A BOOK OF VERSE 

Oh, beautiful ocean, so grand and free, 
As I stand here and look at thee, 
And list to the moan of the harbor bar, 
I know what thy mighty missions are. 

I know you are the proof, to mankind lost, 
Of a mighty, mighty heavenly host, 
Of a God that holds you in his strong hand, 
A power that binds, even you, with bands. 

Can check e'en thy towering foamy waves, 
Can behold thy dead in unnamed graves, 
Can force e'en thee to weep for sins, 
That may lie hid thy waves within. 

Can change thy triumphs into pain. 
Can make even thee confess again ; 
Can by night and day drive thee away. 
From the frail beings you would slay. 

Can say to thee, ''Ring out thy praise, 
As I thy murdered dead now raise," 
Can say to thee, ''Sing low, sing sweet," 
As I stand here that I may greet, 
Each one that comes from out of thee. 
Oh, beautiful, beautiful, treacherous sea. 

I gave to thee a work of love. 
To lift all creatures hearts above. 
To tell all creatures bound and free, 
That each and all belongs to me. 

Oh, beautiful, cruel, and treacherous one, 
How many wrongs thy waters have done ; 



A BOOK OF VERSE 53 

No wonder thy waves on the harbor bar, 
Forever and ever, are moaning there. 

To thy region grand, to those that rest, 
Within thy fathomless, crystal breast ; 
Then sing out, sing out, oh waves of the sea, 
Thy anthems grand are sweet to me. 

Thy organs, vast, lie within thy depths. 
Where in lovely caves thy dead have slept ; 
But now to them I say, **Awake," 
As my toll from the sea, this morn, I take. 

Sing on and on as they come forth, 

Let thy voice give thanks, that I know thy 

worth. 
That they are mine and I say to thee. 
Give back my own, oh sea, to me. 

They come, they come, in long, long lines, 
On which immortal light now shines. 
They come those vanished, long wept dead, 
For whom, in the past, many tears were shed. 

They come forth, all those long lost ones. 
To whom God calls in thundering tones. 
And when all stand here before His face, 
The sea, alone, can rest in peace. 



54 A BOOK OF VERSE 



THE LILY 

Take the beautiful lily with heart of gold, 

It tells forever the story old. 

Petals of purity, perfume so sweet, 

A flower whose beauty is all complete. 

No hand can picture its beauty so fair, 

No hand but Nature can such beauty create. 

What is the secret so closely hid. 
Enshrouded so carefully in each snowy bud ? 
And each day doth bring forth with no thought 

of care, 
A thing of such beauty, that with it naught can 

compare. 

Now O my brother, let us look into its heart. 
Thus we may learn the lesson which it strives 

to impart. 
It is born in the river-bed, dark, dense and still. 
The sun it ne'er sees till it comes from the slime. 
But it is seeking that light which makes it 

divine. 

Now my brother, do you see by this. 
That in loving the sunshine lies its perf ectness ? 
For, if 'twas content in the slime thus to stay, 
Its beautiful heart would ne'er see the day. 
But would lie in the darkness alone, and un- 
wept. 
No one would miss it, and no one would know 
That a thing of such beauty slept calmly below. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 55 

Never doing its life work, leaving it all undone, 
Never seeing the sunshine, and the blue sky 

above, 
As it would, had it done its own life work of 

love. 



DO YOUR OWN LIFE WORK 

The poets have sung, and sages told. 
Of the setting sun in his bed of gold ; 
But I'll try this morn to a new word say, 
Of the closing work of the orb of day. 
Man doth ever seek for an emblem grand. 
To convince him, his life is not like the sand. 
Or that when he has changed his time and place, 
He ever seeks to that future trace. 

Nature gives her lessons so that all may read, 
The birds and the beasts from their cares are 

freed ; 
And the creatures that swim in the crystal 

waves. 
Have no fear of the death, which they always 

brave. 
Man alone is the creature who doth boast of his 

power. 
And tries by his own strength to prolong every 

hour. 
And seeks to find THAT his Creator has hid, 
A Creator who savs — "You must do as I bid." 



66 A BOOK OF VERSE 

'Tis man alone who doth boast of the thing he 

doeth, 
Yet at a shdow he'll flee, when no man pur- 

sueth ; 
On the surface he is brave, but beneath lies hid, 
The things of a life time, what e'er 'twas he did. 
He skims o'er the surface, does not plumb the 

depth, 
But is content with the froth which floats idly 

by- 

And thus looses the wisdom that in the depths 
lie. 

For the lesson is easy, one a child e'en can read, 
The song bird doth know it, and each bursting 

seed, 
Seeks the haven of rest, low down in the 

ground, 
Dust to dust thus returning, where e'er it was 

found. 
It once floated in beauty, a flower so sweet. 
The air filled with perfume, a thing most com- 
plete. 
Its feet firmly planted within the green sod. 
Its beautiful face lifted ever to God. 

E'en the oyster that's dumb, within its dark cell, 
Doeth its own life work, and doeth it well. 
For the sand which intrudes within its own 

heart, 
It turns into beauty and thus healeth the smart. 
And thus makes the pearl that man eagerly 

seeks. 
And by this act of patience a lesson doth speak. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 57 

For that which seeks to harm you, if you cover 

it o'er, 
Will blossom in beauty like the pearls on the 

shore. 

The sun has descended, has lain down to rest, 
His head on night's bosom, his bed, ocean's 

breast ; 
But you know in the morning that he'll rise 

again, 
And bring hope to each creature o'er which he 

may shine. 
For he doeth his own life work in a way most 

sublime. 
And with glad eager footstep climbs o'er each 

mountain peak 
And to birds and to lilies his greeting doth 

speak. 

The green blade of grass with the dewdrop is 

laden, 
And holds up its jewel as it has been bidden ; 
The tiny green worm even doeth his part. 
And fulfilleth its mission, 'neath the sparrows' 

warm heart. 

For to-morrow another will creep forth again. 
With no thought of sorrow that its brother was 

slain, 
But seeketh the sunlight and is doing its work. 

Man alone is the creature that does not do his 
part. 



58 A BOOK OF VERSE 

And has thus lost the teachings God strives to 
impart. 

And if he'd seek God in a more God-hke way, 

And thus lose sight of self, and God's teach- 
ings obey, 

God's sun would shine o'er him, and would 
make his path bright. 

And he'd know death is only like the sleep of 
the night; 

That he'd wake in the morning like the bright 
eager sun, 

And that, like sun-light eternal his day would 
go on. 

Now the riddle I've solved see, that ye so give 

it, 
That all men who read, will again try to live it. 
Then like the fair sun-god, can man lie down to 

rest, 
His hands calmly folded on a still pulseless 

breast, 
And the body is placed within the green sod, 
And the soul understands, friends, the works 

of its God. . 



A BOOK OF VERSE 59 



WILL YOU? 



Shadows, nay life would be brightness, 
Filled with joyous love and mirth. 

If each one would do his duty, 

Like the Christ did from His birth. 

You may say that you are sorry. 

But is it true, or false, my friend ? 

That you will aid your weaker brother, 

As He did, till life shall end? 

Will you go to him in prison, 
In the darkness, cold, and rain? 

Will you share with him each treasure, 
Will you share each tear and pain ? 

Will you say to idle gossip, 

"Lost, nay, I cannot think 'tis true ; 

Let us go to him and aid him, 

That is better far to do." 

Will you say to thy weak sister, 
"Come up higher dearest one, 
I will give thee food and shelter, 
So long as I have either one." 
If you will do this, my brother. 
Then the sun on each will fall, 
And on earth will be no shadows. 
But love and sunshine over all. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



THANKSGIVING DAY 

When on Thanksgiving day, you sit down to 
the feast, 

Will your lips only. Thanksgiving say, 
Or will your own heart the message receive, 

Of the meaning of Thanksgiving day? 

When you look at the food loving hands have 
placed there. 
At the glad faces surrounding the board, 
Will you remember the hungry ones on every 
side, 
And share what has been given thee ? 

Will you give thanks for blessings that have 

been yours in the past, 

Or for what will your thanks be given? 

For the food that you eat or the clothes you 

may wear, 

Or for treasures you laid up in heaven? 

Will you give thanks for the frail waif your 
hand may have fed. 

Or the weak one you have rescued in time, 
And will your own heart beat high with joy. 

For the sinner you have saved from a crime? 

Will you look at the chairs some loved ones 
have left. 
And mourn that they have gone over the 
way, 



A BOOK OF VERSE 61 

Or will you rejoice that a soul has gone home, 
For an eternal Thanksgiving day? 

That GOD in His wisdom knows best, we may 
say. 
And rejoice when called on to serve, 
But if we rebel when He takes them away. 
Then we know not the meaning of Thanks- 
giving day. 

If we ne'er feed the hungry we meet on the 
street, 
Nor go to the sister of shame. 
To tell of the love of GOD for all men, 
Then oh, brother, you give thanks only in 
name. 

Remember oh, sister, thy mother at home 
Is thinking of one gone astray, 

And when she kneels down tonight by the lone 
fireside, 
'Tis for thee she in loneliness prays. 

For she is lonely and sad and remembers the 
child 
That knelt here by her side in the past. 
And to her you are still dear, and she will 
gladly forgive, 
If you will go home before Thanksgiving 
is past. 

'Tis no matter to her what shame thy past life 
mav hold, 



62 A BOOK OF VERSE 

You are her child, she alone loves this way. 
So oh, sister, go home to the silver-haired one 
That is waiting, on Thanksgiving day. 

'Tis thy that has silvered the soft snow hair, 
'Tis thy sins have furrowed her brow deep 
with care, 

But thy love can smooth these furrows away, 
If you will go home on Thanksgiving day. 

And oh, brother, perhaps you have aided in 
this. 

Have been false to the loved ones at home. 
If so, on this day be a man, right the wrong, 

And go home, for 'tis Thanksgiving day. 

For away out on the farm they are waiting to 
see 
Thy face once again ere they must pass 
away; 
So go home, ere too late, to the dear ones that 
wait. 
For they are lonely on Thanksgiving day. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 63 



SUNSET 

The sun was sinking in the west, 
Thus telHng man 'twas time to rest, 
And that from labor he was free. 
Until that sun again he'd see. 

But man, poor fool, will listen not, 
And Nature's teachings has forgot. 
And labors day and night as well, 
That he may thus his coffers fill. 

And why, I ask, poor fool, of thee, 
For you from this full soon will flee. 
And be forced to rest beneath the sod, 
Forgotten by both man and God. 

For man will so struggle for thy gain. 
That he'll forget thy toil and pain. 
Remember naught but the wealth you gave, 
Till he, too, sleeps within the grave. 



64 A BOOK OF VERSE 



AUTUMN 

Autumn now, and Nature weeping, 

That fair summer must away ; 
And the trees their green robes are changing, 

Into brown, and gold, and grey. 

Our flowers are fading gently from us. 

And the song bird too is still. 
And we know that soon will greet us. 

Chill Jack Frost on every hill. 

Then when he has kissed pale summer, 

She will vanish swift away ; 
And the hill side, and the valley, 

Be clad again in white and grey. 

Autumn now, and the leaves are falling, 

Gently dropping one by one. 
Whilst the rain drops softly patter, 

Nature's tears for beauty gone. 

When you go into the garden, 
Seeking roses bright and sweet. 

You may only find the lone one 

Smiling o'er the ruins 

Of her sister, at your feet. 



t l^J^^ 




A BOOK OF VERSE 65 

Autumn now, and summer has left us, 
Gone is spring time's halcyon days; 

Summer joys are like her roses, 
Born too fair, and so must fade. 



Gone, O no, for in the spring time. 

Nature brings to us once more. 
Other leaves and spring time beauties. 

As she has been doing o'er and o'er. 

Never doubt tho' summer leaves us. 

And the joys of spring are gone, 
Roses faded, green grass falling, 

Even song birds' voices dumb. 

Tho' Nature weeps in gentle pity. 

That such beauty fades away. 
And when 'tis gone she spreads o'er it, 

Winter's pure white robes of snow. 
And, beneath the soft white mantle. 

Works her wonders here below. 

That when the spring days again are with us, 
And sun and sky are warm and bright, 

Oh, then each bud and seed will waken, 
And bring fresh leaves and flowers to our 
sight. 

Each cloud that floats in hazy beauty. 
Will tears of joy and gladness shed. 

That the spring again is waking, 

And earth has her green carpet spread. 



66 A BOOK OF VERSE 

Trees in bud, and flowers blooming, 
Song-birds singing high in praise, 

TelHng each and every creature. 

To raise their hearts in loving praise. 

God sees and loves each tiny flov^eret. 
Hears each song the thrush may sing, 

Then, O mortal, cease inquiring, 
For the good all Nature brings. 

God is love, and truth is beauty, 

Is in music sweet, and torrent grand, 

And if you will only learn to trust Him, 
You, too, will knew, and understand. 



ENCOURAGEMENT 

Nay, think not thy life is wasted. 
That no act of strength doth show, 

As 'tis in the tiny raindrop. 
Lies the strength of ocean flow. 

If the tiny rough brown acorn 
Never sought the earth to rest, 

The towering oak of strength and beauty 
Never would its flickering shadows cast 

If 'twas not for night's dim shadows. 
Would we love the sunbeams so ; 

Or welcome morn with song and gladness. 
When we see the heavens glow ? 



A BOOK OF VERSE 67 

Would we love the youth or maiden, 
When they stand in strength and pride, 

If we had not first beheld them, 
In childish weakness by our side? 

Nay I think we love the truest, 
That which costs us most of pain, 

As we never cherish objects 
That we easily obtain. 

If we would reach the highest manhood. 

If we would have the best of all. 
We must ever call our blessings 

The shade that casts the darkest pall. 

Never think because you stumble, 

Or some sin or other did. 
You can ne'er regain your footsteps, 

Or that all is lost for good. 

Never cast away the promise 

Man was given long ago, 
That, if he would reach the highest, 

He must climb up from below. 



68 A BOOK OF VERSE 



MOTHER LOVE 

When the child is at play no question it asks, 
But happy and gay in the shadow or sun, 
The time swiftly flies till the daylight is done. 

Then when the daylight has vanished, 
And darkness is here. 

It will seek the mother for comfort and cheer, 
And into her lo\nng arms contentedly creep, 
While she softly sings her darling to sleep. 

Oh, mother of man, what a mission is thine, 
To comfort and cheer in honor or crime. 
No matter to thee that thine own heart may 

bleed, 
You always are there when thy child doth need. 

No matter to thee how black is the shame, 
'Tis always some other on whom rests the 

blame ; 
Thy own is to thee as pure as the snow. 
And thy love shall enfold them wherever they 

go. 

No other will cling so closely as thee. 
When sin, sorrow or care are the portion of 

man; 
No other forgets her own pain and tears, 
As does the one that guarded man's first help- 
less years. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 69 

So no matter to thee if her hair is Hke snow, 
Remember, 'twas thee that helped make it so; 
No matter to thee for the form bent with age. 
You have aided to wrinkle the time-written 
page. 

So do as has she that has given thee birth. 
Guide the faltering feet whilst they travel on 

earth ; 
Put thy arm around the poor, weak, trembling 

form, 
And comfort and cheer and keep free from 

all harm. 

Smooth gently back the soft, snowy hair, 
Remember, you aided in making it fair ; 
'Twas thy childish follies and oft unkind deeds 
That caused her lips to tremble and her heart 
to bleed. 

Place her chair in the corner where the warm 

sun gently shines, 
Let no cruel word ever fall on her ear. 
But see that each day life is sweeter because 

she is there. 

And when she goes home oh, how glad you 

will be, 
That 'twas thy hand that shielded man's one 

truest friend. 
Until her journey ended and she laid down to 

rest, 
With toil-hardened hands on her calm, silent 

breast. 



70 A BOOK OF VERSE 

Oh, then will you miss her, so silent and still 
Are the lips that no word of love now can tell ; 
But you will find her again in some future day, 
When you, too, travel the same silent way. 

For she will stand there smiling in happy con- 
tent, 

For your journey, too, is ended and your work 
is all done. 

Then the mother and child are together again. 



LIBERTY DAY 

Once more we meet on this glad day. 
To celebrate as best we may 
Our Nation's birth. 

Columbia fair, in robes of state, 
The emblem of a nation great; 
As mother, now she comes to each. 
And love and freedom thus will teach. 
'Tis true she stands with drooping head, 
As she reviews her slumbering dead. 

But O, fair mother, do not weep. 
As God His children still doth keep. 
Oh, lift on high our banners bright, 
And strive to do in all, the right. 
Fling off the yoke of wars and strife. 
And turn the gory weapons down. 
Into the humble plows again. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 71 

And thus we'll turn earth's surface o'er, 
And hide from sight all human gore, 
And our fair mother once more raise 
Her head in pride, as well as praise. 

Think not we may forget the past, 
As 'tis a lesson that should last. 
And sink down deep in every heart. 
And cause the tear-drops e'en to start. 
That it was for each one here today. 
Our slumbering heroes passed away. 

O now, let us all once more unite, 

And cover lovingly from sight, our brothers. 

We will raise our hearts and voices 

High in praise of those who died for others. 



HOW CAN WE DOUBT GOD'S LOVE? 

When I listen to the music swelling on the 

perfumed air. 
When I look upon the beauties spread around 

me everywhere. 
Can I doubt the Supreme power that such 

loveliness creates, 
Or bewail the loving kindness that created 

man's estate? 

Man, poor fool, is ne'er contented with his 
place within the plan, 



72 A BOOK OF VERSE 

But ever tries to tear asunder each and every 

staying band, 
Proudly saying, ''Look upon me, see my 

strength of brawn and brain; 
How can I e'er be contented with this world 

as it began? 

"I will form a fairer, better, I will make it o'er 

again ; 
I will build for me a kingdom, make my slaves 

obey my word. 
Make them tremble at my whisper, bow before 

their ruling lord ; 
Place before me all Earth's treasure, gold and 

jewels, land and sea; 
All are mine for me to ruin, or to save, as I 

may see. 
'Tis no matter who may claim them, if I want 

what I may see, 
I will take it from the weaker all I wish for, 

mine must be." 

But sometimes the brother turneth when he 

feels the stinging lash. 
And then, lo, the seeming victor plans may fall 

with ringing clash ; 
E'en the strength of which he boasted in the 

power of his might, 
A.11 may be taken from him in the darkness of 

a night. 

All the gold that he has taken from the weak 
ones he has wronged 



A BOOK OF VERSE 73 

Will but be as dust and ashes when around him 

they may throng, 
Asking him for lives he has taken in the power 

of his might, 
Caring naught for blood and rapine, so he 

gained his wishes slight. 

Oh, the fool, the blinded atom, dust and ashes 

must thou be. 
Ere thy sins can be forgotten, ere thy eyes 

forgiveness see, 
Thou must work as did the weakest, must toil 

and sweat in pain and tears, 
Must be murdered, foully treated, to undo thy 

work of years. 
No wrong thing has thy mind harbored, but 

must by thee be sometime undone, 
Ere thy sins can be forgiven you must undo 

them one by one. 

Think no more of blood atonement, that can 

save no man from sin; 
'Twas the foulest, crudest murder ever entered 

history, ever stained its pages dim. 
Think no more that you are mighty, or are 

good and strong and brave. 
Till you live as did another and try the weaker 

ones to aid. 

He was slain by envy and hatred, and you may 

have slain some one as well. 
So never, never think it can aid you to of that 

bloody murder tell. 



74 A BOOK OF VERSE 

Priest may rave and preacher tell you that your 

sins can be cleansed by blood, 
But I say, nor will I falter, what is wrong can 

ne'er be good. 

If you wish to still be happy, if you would 

contentment know. 
You must live the same religion that the Christ 

did here below. 
You must never wrong another, you must ne'er 

of evil speak, 
You must always aid the weaker, and your 

word must never break. 

Seek no thing that is another's, always give 

the ones that need, 
Then will no man need a savior for his sins to 

intercede. 
But this world will be a heaven and will, like 

the blossoms bright, 
Bloom in beauty on each morning in sun of 

God's own sight. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 75 



DO WE FOLLOW IN GOD'S 
FOOTSTEPS? 

When we say that we are sorry 
' For the weak or sorrowing one, 
Will we leave it to another 

To do the work we should have done? 

When we hear that in the prison 
Some poor wretch awaits the doom, 

Friendless, lonely, no love shown him. 
Hastened to the dreadful tomb. 

Are we showing Christ-like pity 
When we proudly turn away 

From the frail waif of the city, 
That passes by us every day? 

Are we living love or hatred, 

Every day as we pass by 
Some poor, straying, friendless creature, 

Trampled down and left to die? 

Oh, the broken hearts around us. 
Oh, the sighs and bitter tears, 

Oh, the throngs that are about us, 
Counting each day as of years. 

No one ever yet lived vainly 
That has tried to do the right; 

All men should be as brothers, 
Guided ever by one light. 



76 A BOOK OF VERSE 

Why, O why, are mankind selfish, 

And for self doth ever seek, 
And instead of love give hatred. 

When of their brothers they may speak? 

Each one forgets that in past ages 
Blood has been shed for God like rain, 

And poor helpless human creatures 
Oft torn and trampled in His name. 

Oft been fed to beasts more human 
Than the fiendish keepers were. 

For the brute was only seeking food the 
keeper had denied, 
Till 'twas maddened by its hunger, 

And thus so many thousands died. 

Died, yet they tell us that He loves us, 
And just and holy is His name. 

If 'twas His command to slay them. 
Who, I ask, must bear the blame? 

God to me is love eternal, 

Joy and goodness, hope and truth; 

Naught of evil doth He know. 
And 'twas man's own selfish nature 

That did so much of anger show. 

God means goodness, truth and honor, 
And gives to each sunshine and rain, 

Gives us life and love and beauty. 
Never causes tears or pain. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 77 



Never caused a moan of anguish. 
Never shed one drop of blood, 

But is only love eternal, 

If man had only understood. 



BE HONEST AND TRUE 

Why pretend the sound of the perfect flute, 

When only the childish whistle, 

And say you hold a perfumed rose. 

When you have only a common thistle? 

For cannot all men hear the coarser note, 

And even the child knows better 

Than accept the common wayside weed, 

Instead of the rose that is sweeter. 

O, why not be honest and true, my own, 

Why are you deceitful ever? 

For you deceive no one at all, 

You only pain and grieve them. 

Your life may hold the secret dark. 

And you think no one the wiser. 

But 'tis only the coarser note you give. 

You are only the common thistle. 

O, be honest and true in every way, 

And give only your sweetest music. 

As 'twill aid some one to go bravely on, 

And cheer their dreary journey. 



78 A BOOK OF VERSE 



HEART'S TREASURES 

Will you listen for a moment 

To what I have to say? 
It may help you keep a treasure, 

E'er it, too, may pass away. 

Days go by in idle pastime, 
And the moments swiftly go. 

And we should ever try to fill them 
With the good while here below. 

Ever strive to aid another, 
If he needs thy helping hand : 

Give it gladly, never caring, 
If it wears the sinner's brand. 

If 'tis stained with darkest crimson, 
'Twill not give thy hand a stain. 

For 'twas Jesus who forgave them 
And who said, "Forgiven be, 

All thy sins are now forgotten." 

And are YOU a better child than He? 

All men are children of one Father. 

And as brothers men ever live. 
Trying thus to aid the weak ones 

And the sinner to forgive. 

That was the lesson Christ has given. 
And He died so all might know, 



A BOOK OF VERSE 79 

It was better to forgive them, 

Than to give back blow for blow. 

Try each day to aid another; 

Never let the sun go down 
Without making some one happy, 

Helping some one win the crown. 
Lift up some one who has fallen, 

Guide some straying footstep home. 



WHY WE LOVE THEM 

Do you think you'd love the roses 
If their leaves were always green, 

Or the perfume of the violet 
Be as sweet as in the spring? 

If those lovely ones we love so 
Never faded from our sight. 

Would we welcome them so gladly. 
When they come into the light? 

Nay, I think the leafless branches, 
Swaying lightly to and fro. 

With the promise of fruition, 
Is what makes us love them so. 

We would tire of the roses. 
And the violets cast aside. 

If we kept them ever with us, 
Never lost them in the tide 



80 A BOOK OF VERSE 

Of the swiftly flowing river 

That is ever rolHng by, 
Bearing friend and foe and blossom 

From the sight of longing eye. 

But as springtime brings back the roses 

In a fairer, sweeter guise, 
We all know our loving Father 

Is, in His dealing, ever wise. 

If He wakes the dry, bare branches 
Into promised bud and bloom. 

Why should the children of the Father 
Dread to slumber in the tomb? 

Every rose, or e'en the lily, 

First must sleep beneath the sod, 

Or 'twould never see the sunshine. 
Never lift its face to God. 

MORAL 

Then let each trembling mortal see 
How wise and good our God can be, 

Kindly aiding man to return 
To the God he oft doth spurn. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 81 



WHY IS IT? 



The sun was softly gilding 

The pearly peaks of snow, 
The hillsides and the valleys 

Were sleeping far below. 
As I stood gazing upward, 

With most intense delight, 
A band of lovely strangers 

Came swiftly into sight. 

One said to me, 'Toor mortal, 

Why dost thou tarry here. 
When earth's poor suffering children 

Need thy most loving care? 
In a little, low, thatched cottage 

At the foot of yonder hill. 
There lies a dying mother. 

So pale, and cold, and still. 

"On the pillow close beside her 

Rests a tiny, new-born babe; 
There is none to aid her, love or chide her. 

Oh, mortal, hasten to her aid." 
Soon we stood within the cottage. 

Where upon their lowly bed 
Lay the mother and the baby. 

But both were still, and cold, and dead. 

As I stood there, idly gazing 
At those lovely strangers there, 



82 A BOOK OF VERSE 

Some caressed and kissed the baby, 

While others smoothed her tangled hair. 

One said to me O, so gently, 
"If you can, tell me, I pray, 

Why, in a land where there is plenty, 
These things happen every day? 

"For Jesus said the poor are with you, 

Then why stand ye idly by 
While around you O, so many 

Of my most loved ones starve and die? 
Now, my child, if you will only 

Take this lesson to your heart, 
You will have still the coming morrow 

In which each may do his part." 



SLEEPING 



In the city of the slumbering dead 
Is where the holy angels tread, 
While the quiet sleepers calmly rest 
Within our Mother's throbbing breast. 
The creeping grass, and swaying trees. 
The perfumed flowers and the breeze, 
With singing birds and sunshine bright. 
Make this peaceful home one of delight. 
The one that's tired in heart and mind 
Will think this haven ever kind. 
And gladly welcome man's best friend, 
The one that says, "I've come for thee. 
Will ease thy pain and set thee free." 



A BOOK OF VERSE 83 

And with dust to dust, man goes to rest, 
His hands calmly folded on his breast; 
His soul set free as the angels are, 
Will help some others' pain to bear. 
So gently tread, speak soft and low. 
For God's own angels are with thee now; 
Are guarding lovingly each one 
That God has called to their last home. 

Written EJxpressly for Mr. Wilson BenepiEi, 

OF Lone Fir Cemetery July 17, '03. 

Compliments of the Author 

Mrs. Florence McIntyre. 



A WOMAN'S QUESTION 

You have asked me in tones so tender, 
To go with you to your home, 

To share with you all life's journey, 
Share with you what e'er may come. 

But when we stand before the altar. 
And I place my hand in thine, 

Will you wish another stood beside you, 
That the place was never mine? 

Oh, if within thy heart there lingers 
One faint throb of vain regret, 

Tell it now before too late, love, 
Or be sure that you forget. 

Leave all thy lonely past, love, 
Bury it away from sight, 



84 A BOOK OF VERSE 

Closing down with strongest fetters 
Every longing day or night. 

Oh, would you turn away in anger, 

Or the cruel word or blow. 
Be the answer you would give me. 

This, love, is what I must know. 

Or when the face and form so fair now 
Is bent and withered with old age, 

And life's journey well nigh ended. 
Closely written all life's page. 

And my hair in snowy whiteness 

Forms a halo for my brow. 
Would you miss me if I left you, 

Miss me then as you would now? 

Would you still clasp closely to you, 
My frail body, cold with death. 

And in eager, loving kindness 

Watch each feeble, fluttering breath? 

And when death's cold waves roll o'er me, 
And the darkness is all dense with pain, 

Would you place your arms about me. 
And press my cold lips once again? 

Would the teardrops, swiftly gathering. 
Fall like dewdrops on my face. 

And thus tell me you still loved me. 
Your breast was still my resting place? 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



MAN IS IMMORTAL 

Man has sought for ages gone by, 

To find if he is immortal or if he must die. 

And when e'er his body rests beneath the green 

sod, 
Does the soul live 'forever, or is there a God? 

Man, poor fool, cannot be content 

With the wisdom that nature unto him has 

sent, 
But by doubting the truths she has placed all 

around, 
Says no soul has he, or it he must have found. 

He has stood by the beasts his own hand has 

slain. 
And gloated in pride at their dying pains. 
For he was the wiser, so had the right to slay, 
And thus take the life of God's creatures away. 

And when in dying despair it would raise its 

poor head, 
And look on the hand with its blood dyed red, 
Had he not been so blinded by the thirst of 

blood, 
He would have seen he had taken a life that 

was God's. 

Man slays everything that stands in his way. 
Be it beast or his brcther, if he wishes to slay ; 



86 A BOOK OF VERSE 

He studies by night to a more sure way to find, 
To murder the weaker, if he should have the 
mind. 



Now I ask, is it any wonder that a thing such 

as that, 
vShould lose sight of God and see nothing but 

hate, 
See anger and malice, see envy and strife. 
And ever be seeking to take away life? 
Be ever doubting the existence of a God, 
And never content till he rests 'neath the sod? 



But now we will try and show man why he 
Must live on forever for all eternity; 
Why he has a soul and is the child of a God, 
And that soul lives for all ages, never rests 
'neath the sod. 



Man is given a house that is not made by 
hands, 

That 'tis borne of a mortal was by divine wis- 
dom planned. 

And it is his alone to keep clean or stain, 

Whichever he chooses. 



But the tenant within is the child of a King, 
And entitles the owner to the seal and the ring; 
To all power and glory that the Father may 

have. 
If he, that same owner, will more rightly live. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 87 

Will never do evil, but always do good, 

As the child of that Father in every way 

should ; 
Be honest to all men, be noble and true. 
And never to murder or cruel deeds do. 

To every object, no matter how small, 'twas 

the work of his Father — 
He created it all. 

If man should live this way, and this way alone, 
He would not be a stranger, but see the great 

throne. 
Of wisdom, and beauty of truth and of love, 
See the angels in Heaven and all things would 

have ; 
No sickness or sorrow, no more toil or pain. 
But the child and the Father know each other 

again. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



CARNATION 



O thou beautiful rose-tinted darling, 

So dainty, so sweet, and so gay, 
With the breath of an angel from Heaven, 

Which you, are ever giving away. 

Your petals are fringed by the fairies, 
And curled by the gnomes of the wood. 

As a hiding place for them to sleep in. 
When yon go on your mission of good; 

Sometimes 'tis a lover who gives you 

As a token, to his lady fair. 
Then, the fairies will sing all the sweeter, 

For the perfume yon give to the air. 

And again you may go to the prison, 

On a mission of pity and love, 
Then O sweet one, try to be ever sweeter. 

And tell of the Christ and his love. 

Or, if a hot fevered hand clasps you closely, 
And the eyes are all tear-dimmed with pain, 

You may lessen by perfume the anguish, 
And give rest to the poor, tired brain. 

If placed in the white waxen hands of the 
sleeper. 

As they rest on the cold, silent heart, 
O then is the time of all others, 

To help soothe the sorrowing heart. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



SYMBOLS OF LIFE 



Man has gained, by his seeking for knowledge 

and truth, 
One item which guides him, e'en from his 

youth ; 
For 'tis a thing so common each one knows 

when he reads, 
That the one seed of garhc permeates all other 

seeds. 
This symbol is vulgar, I know, brother, full 

well. 
But to the rough nature, rough truths ye must 

tell; 
But, if 'tis the perfume of the sweet and the 

true, 
Like the attar of roses it will cling to you. 
For, though the beautiful vase in fragments 

may lie, 
The perfume on the air tells to each passer by 
That the emblem of beauty, so perfect and 

sweet, 
Tho' vanished from sight for long ages gone 

by, 

The perfume that lingers says truth never dies; 

For tho' the vase has been shattered, 

And the rose's beauty has fled. 

Its perfume still lingers, it never is dead. 

It sought for the sunshine, giving no thought 

at all ; 
But it kept itself ever lifted up o'er the sod, 
Holding its face up for the kiss of its God. 



90 A BOOK OF VERSE 

And when that kiss was sent down deep in its 

heart, 
The perfume and the flower soon drifted apart. 
But man sought for the garHc, and has thus 

lost the rose, 
But remember the lesson, oh brother, is this, 
That in the rose, seeking the sunshine, lies its 

perfectness. 
If your soul seeks the sunshine of truth, and it 

kisses your heart. 
Your life, like the rose, will its perfume impart. 
And tho' the vase may be shattered, and the 

flower lie dead, 
The perfume will live on forever, 'tis the leek 

that is dead. 
So ask no more questions as to what man 

should do. 
But let each one firmly seek for the good and 

the true, 
And do nothing by night which he will not 

do by day. 
To say naught of his brother, he could not hear 

him say. 
Keep his heart full of love, the sunshine of 

truth. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 91 



WHY SHOULD MORTALS BE PROUD? 

Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? 
It begins as an atom, and ends in a shroud; 
But oh, thou poor mortal, it rests ALL with 

thee. 
What MANNER of atom it may chance to be. 
For, if 'tis begotten in sin and in crime, 
Be su^e that poor atom will sink every time. 
For the mud always stays far beneath in the 

stream. 
And of warm, loving sunshine ne'er catches a 

gleam. 
But if 'tis begotten in love pure and true. 
Be sure that poor atom will much better grow. 

The pure, snowy lily its own story will tell. 
For 'tis the perfection of sunshine, an atom as 

well. 
But it has been loved and tended in ages gone 

by. 

So could be naught but the beauty on which 

rests thine eye. 
But remember, it is not to ITS credit at all 
That the pure, snowy blossom did not also fall. 
For it has been carefully nurtured and cared 

for and loved. 
Been kept in the sunshine that comes from 

above. 
No rough hand has touched it, so how else 

could it be 



92 A BOOK OF VERSE 

But the thing of perfection which you today 
see? 

But the other poor atom, that was buried so 

deep, 
Is a thing for which angels (not men) ever 

weep. 
Man says 'tis a thing accursed, a thing low and 

vile, 
For 'twas ill begotten, a poor sinner's child. 
And as it is so low, we must still keep it there, 
Must never transplant it to a garden more fair. 
But keep it down midst temptation and every 

foul crime, 
For tho' 'tis a human, it MUST stay in the 

slime. 
For if we should place that atom within our 

own nest. 
It may sting the hand which its head has 

caressed. 

So we'll keep it down there, with no chance 

at all 
To ever do aught but to sink and to fall. 
If men only could see what it is they thus do. 
When they damn a brother to stay down below. 
More often they'd give the strong, helping 

hand 
To the poor, weaker ones all over the land. 
For they are born into life, unresisting and 

weak, 
And so no other station must they ever seek. 
But God in His wisdom says to each and to 

all, 



A BOOK OF VERSE 93 

"You are the child of the father, and never 

should fall." 
And no matter to thee what thy brother may 

say, 
Both must travel the same road in the very 

same way. 
Are born of a mortal, go hence, in a shroud; 
Now I ask once again, friends — 

Why Should Mortals Be Proud } 



OCT 28 is@9 



